A Second Chance
by Unknown123190
Summary: Sephiroth is getting a second chance to live life like he wants to. All he knows is that Cloud is looking for him...will he go back for him?


**A/N: This isn't a oneshot, before you ask. And Tifa's just there to...make it a bit more interesting/complicated, yknow?**

**R&R! (please?)**

**I'd be pissed if someone killed me like twice...three times? I can't remember if cloud killed sephiroth two or three times...huh.**

**Sephiroth**

When he awoke, his mind was foggy and his thoughts, unclear. He couldn't remember why he was there, what had happened, and to a certain extent, who he was. He felt like, for the first time in years, the back of his mind was free of a certain high-pitched talking calamity. But that was impossible, because his mother was _always_ with him, no matter how far he was from her physically. She talked through the lifestream and crept through his thoughts like a snake, spreading her venom – no, not venom. Her blessing.

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The sun was blinding so he lifted an arm to shield his eyes and blinked a few times, groaning. He could feel cool grass under his body – which, he realized, was unclothed -, a warm breeze tickling his cheek and water surrounding his feet and ankles. He shivered as he stood up, trying to shake off a massive headache. He dragged his feet out of the water and finally opened his eyes fully, looking around suspiciously.

This certainly wasn't the lifestream – especially since you couldn't actually see the lifestream. This place had trees, so tall they seemed to touch the sky, a sparkling river that tumbled downwards and blooming red flowers that decorated the grass like drops of paint. The air smelled fresh, a mix of pollen, moisture and soil. The sky was light blue and there was not a cloud in sight as far as his eye could see in any given direction. It couldn't possibly have been a nicer day, and yet although Sephiroth registered all of this in his mind, he could not care less. His mother was not there and he was worried to the point of feeling sick. He put one hand over his mouth in case he felt the need to throw up and limped – his legs were awfully unstable – towards the forest edge, a few feet away. At least the weather was just perfect; not too cold, not too warm.

Once his fingertips brushed against the rough bark, he turned around and pressed his back to the trunk before sliding down so he sat on the grass, his back touching the tree. He couldn't smell, see or hear a single monster or human around so he let his guard relax somewhat, feeling tired. He couldn't remember all that had happened but he was now starting to have fleeting flashbacks: flashes of blonde hair and blue eyes, a person unknown to him, a long and flat sword swinging in his direction, a huge meteor headed straight for the Planet. But what came back the most was that person – a boy – and he felt a swell of anger in his chest. This boy had killed his mother, and then killed him – _more than once_. But why couldn't he remember who the boy was? And why wasn't he still dead?

A small cough brought him back to the Planet and his eyes snapped open. He winced again as the light hit his sensitive ocular nerve, but he could see the outline of a small woman, standing in the grass. Her hair was brown and it was tied in a braid behind her head. She was smiling, and he briefly thought about wiping it clean off her face.

"You're awake, finally," she sighed in relief, closing her green eyes momentarily. When she opened them again, they seemed to be glowing.

Sephiroth didn't answer, only glared at her coldly.

"I brought you back; aren't you glad?"

Suddenly he remembered the girl's face from his memories and distinctively remembered spearing her with masamune in the city of the ancients. She was supposed to be dead, just like him. He realized with a jolt that he did not have masamune with him, and it made him feel uncomfortable.

"We are both dead," he spoke clearly; his voice was raspy from lack of use.

"I am dead," she said with a smile, "You, as of now, are not."

To make her point, she reached down and attempted to cup one of the flowers in her outstretched hand. Her hand went right through it and she could not touch it. Fearing this might happen for him too; he reached down and touched the grass. It moved sideways at his touch.

"Why did you do this?"

He had killed her in front of her friends – he'd made a show of her death. He'd manipulated the boy's mind, tried to get him to kill her himself, to torture them both. Her helping him made no sense, and so he was wary of her. He was, at the moment, weak and unarmed and as nude as the day he was born.

"Because you never had a choice, General. You may think Jenova was only influencing you, but you're wrong: she was controlling you. She is gone now, and she'll never reach you again. You can live a normal life…because everyone is allowed a second chance, Sephiroth. And also," she paused before smiling again, "someone has been regretting your death very much. And I want that person to be happy, more than anything…" she trailed off, and the smile slid off her face as if washed away by rain. She seemed so lost and sad all of a sudden, standing there in the middle of the clearing, her feet bare.

Sephiroth got to his feet slowly, satisfied to feel that his former strength was slowly coming back to his body. The girl had favoured to look at the river rather than him, so he took a step forward. His bones cracked and his muscles twitched.

"Who is…regretting my death so, flower girl?"

Zack in the church, holding the girl's hand, smiling. Zack looking for materials to construct a flower cart for the girl. Hojo telling him about the last Cetra – the last Ancient. The Turks keeping an eye on her, hounding her. The memories came back like a bullet, tearing through his head and chest and leaving only pain behind. Zack had loved this girl and he'd killed her. It was wrong, and yet he'd done it regardless.

"You know who," she chided softly, turning her green eyes back onto him.

"I do not," he insisted.

"I have to go now," she announced rather sharply. "Don't make the same mistakes again, General…do you hear me? Or you'll end up in the exact same place, humiliated and lonely, and Cloud shall forever wonder 'why?'. I didn't bring you back to cause more pain, Sephiroth."

And then she was gone, leaving not even a footstep in the grass. Sephiroth limped back to the riverside and splashed some water in his heated face, hoping to put the last pieces of his memories back together. Some things were still missing, like the boy, and this Cloud person. Or were they the same?

"Yes…_Cloud_."

**Cloud**

"Cloud!" Tifa yelled, knocking on the door softly. When there was no answer, she turned the handle and pushed the door open with her foot, for her arms were filled by the tray of food she was carrying.

She saw the object of her attention lying on the bed, gazing distantly at the wall in front of him. He didn't so much as twitch when she came in and set the tray down on the table next to his bed.

"Cloud, please get up. The kids are worried. I'm worried," she added softly. "You've been lying there for seven days. I don't know what to do anymore…I know you've been through a lot but it'll never go away if you stay there!" she cried out. She usually never lost her temper with Cloud, but she was tired. She was tired of taking care of Marlene and Denzel alone, of tending to the bar alone, to taking calls for Cloud all day long, of doing the shopping alone and of taking care of the immobile soldier living in her bar. She wanted to see her childhood friend smile for once; he had saved the world. He deserved all the happiness in the world, but instead he had died along with the crazed General. She wondered why that insane man had gotten Cloud's heart and not her…she had been too late.

"I made meat pie. It's your favourite, remember?" she tried once more, placing one hand on his shoulder.

She almost jumped up in surprise when he turned around to face her and reached out for the food. Maybe he was just very, very hungry, but she was so glad that he was moving and eating that she started to laugh. He stared at her weirdly as he took a bite of the pie, humming a little as he did. He loved meat pie…

"It's good," he said. His throat must have been sore because he coughed a little and rubbed it with his free hand.

"I made it from scratch – no frozen stuff, this time. I'm glad you like it."

He cleaned the plate in a heartbeat and then downed the orange juice. When he stood up on shaky legs, Tifa thought she should pinch herself and see if it was a dream. If it was, she could be damn angry.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out all of a sudden, his eyes staring at the floor. The wood was glossy.

"For what?" she asked even though she knew why. After all, she'd been mentally complaining not even five minutes ago.

"For leaving you to do everything alone. I live here and I should contribute…you shouldn't have to go shopping. It's dangerous for a girl."

"I can fight, too!" she argued with a laugh, "I fought Sephiroth with you, you know."

It was a bad choice of words and she realized it too late. His face fell and his eyes glazed over. His jaw slackened.

"Now I'm sorry," she whispered, sitting down next to him on the bed. It creaked gently when she lay her weight down on it. She lay her hand on his shoulder again and shook him a little, as if to wake him.

"No…I need to forget about him." His eyes were focused again and they held a steely determination. "He's dead and I'm not. I need to move on…with you," he said with a small blush.

Tifa held her breath, her heart beating faster. He couldn't possibly be saying what she thought…what she had been hoping for ever since Cloud had joined AVALANCHE. But when he took her hand off his shoulder and squeezed it in his own hand, and pressed his lips against hers, she knew it was happening…she just took the liberty of pinching her wrist to make sure.

**Sephiroth**

He had walked for many hours before reaching the small town of Mideel. It had been heavily damaged in the time when Meteor had been about to hit, but the townspeople had rebuilt it on solid ground. The General figured that he must have been dead for many years, for the village was perfectly reconstructed.

When he entered, most of the folk who passed by him stared openly at him, for his appearance was well known now – not as a hero, but as a monster, a killer and a psychopath. Of course, no one dared to try and kill him in fear of attracting the wrath of his anger, and there was no more Shinra to call for help. There was nothing left of Shinra now but scraps too damaged to be put back together. He'd done the Planet a great service, after all, by riding it of that plague.

There was a small clinic – or maybe it was a hospital, or both - at the top of a hill and he opened the door without knocking. The inside was small but surprisingly cozy, more like a hotel than a clinic. He glared at the woman sitting behind a desk, frozen and her eyes as wide as saucers. There was a stack of papers clutched tightly to her chest like armour and, in order to scare her further, he snatched them out of her stiff arms and threw the papers sideways. It seemed to have the desired effect.

"W-w-what c-can I d-do for you, s-sir?" she stuttered madly.

"I would like some clothes," he snapped quickly.

She shot out of her chair like a mouse and hurried on upstairs. He heard her moving things around for a while and briefly wondered if she was trying to jump out of a window or something. Fortunately she came down a while later, clutching the biggest clothes she could possibly find. When she shakily handed them to him, he smelled something foul on them and cringed as he picked them up. These clothes had been worn by people who died in the clinic; they'd been washed, yes, but the smell of death was always a persistent one. He should have known they wouldn't have any regular clothes for a man of his size and stature.

He put the clothes on in front of the girl who refused to move an inch without him directly ordering him to. The shirt was a bit small, and the pants too long – which was surprising – but as he stared at his reflection in the mirror he found that he looked as handsome as he ever had. There was dirt and some grass residue in his hair, but otherwise it was alright. His hair was as long as when he'd died – five inches under his hips – and he amused himself by pulling it over his shoulder and combing the knots out of it with his hands.

"I have a b-brush, sir, if you'd l-l-like!" squealed the secretary. He turned around to stare her down coolly.

"Why would I want to use your things? They're probably filthy."

She looked as thought she wanted to kill herself when he said that, but he cared not and continued combing his hair until it was smooth and silky. He threw it over his shoulder again and went to exit the clinic; he froze with his hand on the handle.

"Do you know of anyone named Cloud?" he asked to anyone who could hear him.

"Cloud? Oh yes…there was a young boy name Cloud here about eight years ago. He had a severe case of mako poisoning and he couldn't even talk right. Then the island split open, and he escaped with some of his friends. Haven't seen him since." At least she seemed to have gotten the stuttering under control. He muttered a quiet thanks and slammed the door behind him as he left.

So it had been eight years already? Cloud could be anywhere, now. He would make the boy pay for what he did to his mother and for killing him. He didn't care about the flower girl's lies; how she claimed the boy regretted his actions, regretted his _death_. She was just trying to lure him to Cloud, his guard down, and allow the boy to slay him once more. Why? For sport? For amusement? He would not allow that. He would slay the boy first and then torture his friends until they begged for death. Then he would find a way to bring his mother back and finish the miserable Planet.

He remembered that AVALANCHE's headquarters had been in Midgar. No doubt Cloud was still with his old traitor friends, near the ruins of Midgar. Or it was even possible that they had begun to rebuild the godforsaken city from scratch. He decided to start his search there, where he was most likely to find the imaginary SOLDIER.

**Cloud**

Tifa watched as Cloud put drinks in front of the clients, smiling a little at a fat man's joke about Shinra. Shinra was nothing but a funny joke nowadays, a bad dream that they had all woken up from. Though Rufus had tried time and time again to rebuild the Shinra Empire, the lack of the population's support had forced him to retreat to a small mansion far from Edge, alone with the last of the Turks. He called sometimes to chat with Cloud, but it was never for long and Cloud didn't look forward to those calls.

"Tifa, I think we're running out of food," Cloud called out as he stuck his head out of the refrigerator.

"I meant to go shopping this morning, but I forgot I had to bring Marlene to see the doctor," she apologized with a small laugh.

"She's sick?"

Cloud was frowning now, and once more Tifa felt a warm feeling seeping through her chest as she realized that Cloud really did love her and the kids, even if here was not where his heart lay. Even if they were not their kids, biologically speaking. But Barret was always away and Denzel just always stuck around, so the kids were constantly at the bar.

"She had a bit of a fever, but it's just the flu," she assured him. Cloud nodded.

"I'll go buy some," Cloud said as he closed the refrigerator. Tifa nodded slowly, smiling as she wiped a glass clean with a damp towel. She was always cleaning glasses nowadays.

Cloud went upstairs to grab the sword Vincent had given him nearly a year ago - since the Buster sword was still standing in the middle of the wastelands. He much preferred his buster sword, but it was a symbolic thing. He thought that he'd go see it once he'd done the shopping.

He went back downstairs to see that nearly everyone had cleared out and Tifa was wiping another glass in silence, humming a song gently. He cleared his throat and her brown eyes glued to his.

"I'll go buy the food, and then there's something I have to do. I'll be back before sunset," he assured her.

"Be careful," she sung softly.

Whenever he said he had things to do, she never asked what it was, either because she didn't want to know or she didn't want to be indiscreet. She did look sad, however. Like she desperately wanted to be a part of his deepest thoughts, to share his pain, but at the same time fearing it. He smiled wryly at her before walking out of Tifa's bar, shutting the door behind him.

Fenrir was parked outside the bar as usual, lying sideways. He sat on top of it, switched it on, slid the sword into the compartment designed entirely for that purpose and then he drove out onto the street, engine roaring. He loved the feel of the wind passing through his hair and brushing against his skin. Had he not been obliged to stay focused so as not to hit anybody, he would have closed his eyes and let himself speed away. But he slowed down as he neared the market, waving through people carefully. Most got out of his way but sometimes there was someone who didn't see him, and he had no intention of killing a person with his bike.

Once he had bought everything he needed, he fit the bags comfortably behind the seat and wedged them nicely to make sure they didn't fall. He then drove out of the city at full speed and out into the wastelands – an endless plain of desert and death. The ground underfoot was cracked and dry, the plants withered and black and the air was dry with sand and dirt. He rode through it quickly, keeping an eye out for wolves, knowing the road to his friend's makeshift grave by heart. He could have gotten there with his eyes closed if he'd wanted to. He could almost feel the sword pulling him forward like a fish on a hook, the string yanking him towards it.

He wasn't quite in eyeshot of the Buster sword when he felt that something was off. There was someone – or something - at the grave that shouldn't be there. He pushed the bike forward at maximum speed, feeling the dread inside of him growing and pulsing. He could now see the outline of the sword, as well as the shadow of a very tall man with ridiculously long hair standing erect two feet away from it. He frowned and turned the bike so it could ride up the hill leading to the sword.

The man standing next to the sword turned to look at him with cat-slit green eyes, glowing in the sunlight. His white hair flew behind him almost magically, framing his angular face. The only thing that was missing was the long, trademark sword named masamune that Sephiroth was never seen without. Cloud stopped the bike short of hitting the man and had to swallow some vomit that tried to make its way up his throat.

"Se…se…se-" he began with a shortness of breath.

"Sephiroth," the taller man corrected him softly, his hand reaching out to caress the Buster sword's hilt almost fondly.

"You're…alive," Cloud gasped, forgetting completely to keep his guard up. When he finally did, it was too late. He was being pinned down to the ground by a heavy body, his own sword pressed against his throat. The green eyes were smirking with mirth.

"I am! The flower girl brought me back so you could kill me again, didn't she? It's her revenge for me killing her. She lied so I would come here unprepared – but I didn't fall for the trap. See? Here I am, about to chop your head off, and you're the one whose unprepared. I wonder if she's smiling now," he laughed dryly, pressing the cold blade harder against the pale white flesh of Cloud's neck. A thin red line drew itself upon the skin and three drops of blood leaked out, slowly dripping down his neck to stain his shirt.

"Aerith? Aerith brought you back to life?" he questioned, completely ignoring the weapon threatening to slice his throat open. It was as though he didn't care if he lived or died.

"The flower girl, that's what I said," the General snapped impatiently. This was hardly the determined boy he'd fought so many years ago.

"For me," Cloud breathed, unwilling tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"For you to kill me."

"No," he shook his head painfully. "Because I regret killing you. I…I don't regret killing Jenova, because she was controlling you. You disappeared in Nibelheim, but by killing your body I prevented you from even coming back…I'm sorry," he whispered, staring sideways at the ground. "You're here now, though. Not Jenova."

Sephiroth frowned, gripping the hilt of Cloud's sword tighter. The boy was _lying_. He had to be. He had barely known the sad little cadet that had accompanied him and Zack to Nibelheim, so why would the boy regret killing him? It was absurd. Ridiculours.

"Not only do you lie, Cloud, but you insult my intelligence by implying that I would believe such a lie," he hissed near the younger man's ear. He felt Cloud shiver.

"I'm not lying. However…" he glanced down at the sword pressed against his neck, "you can kill me if that's what you want. It's only fair, since I killed you more than once. I'll join the lifestream, see Aerith…and then, when you die as well, I'll see you again."

Sephiroth hissed as an odd, alien feeling gripped his chest. He thrust the blade forward, cutting a little deeper, staring right into Cloud's blue eyes.


End file.
